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Minho knows kindness, he does. But it's never as strong as the anger, the frustration, the jealous eyes that follow. Confusion, insecurity. A world of artistry and competition held in its hands a cocktail of toxins; ready to infect, ready to puncture, pierce through thin and thick skin alike.
Around the corner, in an unused hallway, the antidote waits with a smile.
The smile.
Subdued and careful under a shivering light bulb. A smile that rings to can I talk to you and where have you been or did you have to turn around and leave yesterday when I tried to ask if you've been well. Heavy in complaints, bathed in a naivety Minho recognizes but fails to see reflected on the mirror.
"I'll show you the way," is what it settles for. And Minho has to duck his face to the floor to hide the warmth spreading on his cheeks. An early fever, clawing at the bitterness that resides at the surface, "You are on the wrong floor."
The hand graces his shoulder in passing, fingertips running over the fabric. Warm.
"Thanks, Seungmin-ah."
Blinking away the tears makes him dizzy.
There's a ghost of a hug all over him. A first hug that might be the last, big hands curled into tiny fists as they keep him close, wet breath tucked under his chin. Bodies stuck in a shaking motion.
What is a two years gap at the realization that you are both children to the world? Standing outside the sandcastle, a dream so magnificent to build, crumbling at the first waves hitting the shore.
Minho is no stranger to rejection but the violent grip that pulls him back when he was close, so close, is a kind of monster he has not faced before.
It's terrifying, because it has eyes in the form of camera lenses and immortalized, fossilized, memories to keep forever. And if you dare forget here's a reminder, here's a picture of your tears, here's an article, here's to commemorate your failure.
Here's the broken heart of the child that so carefully called your name —guided you through the unknown path— shattered. Take it, take it, it's yours. This pain is yours.
Hold him.
Seungmin cries again at the dorm. The doors are closed, the outside world shuts away as he gasps for air. Minho's tears drying under his eyes by the desperation to hold the boy together, to keep all the pieces, however broken.
Second chances.
The sandcastle may have collapsed but the sand remains.
To rebuild is to follow through a known process, to go step by step once more. The goal is the same but the result is never equal.
This time the walls are higher than the castle so that its fragility doesn't matter anymore. So that it's protected from the sea breeze and the in crescendo rhythm of the body of water that surrounds it.
Minho has no intention to learn to swim. He settles behind the wall.
It's hard to take a role without rehearsal. The expectation is overwhelming, despite the resolve to succeed. It is impossible to avoid the stumbles when the unknown surrounds you.
He is a hyung now, takes the role carefully and hesitantly. He is a hyung to a family of explosive kids, filled with sharp edges, not quite polished yet, a little brazen.
Seungmin's eyes tremble under his own. His mouth is full, blush blossoms on his cheeks, tinted rose gold thanks to the remaining makeup on his skin.
"Is it good?"
Minho is not insecure about it, but his heart is sore and stretched thin by exhaustion.
"So good hyung," Seungmin talks before he swallows, a rice grain under his bottom lip, "thank you."
Minho thinks there's warmth around them, lingering in the air like early summer sun. He can't feel it. Standing under the sunrise, he shivers, freezing. The cold slips through his ribs and bites at his bones.
He wants to thank Seungmin in return, but the words stay stuck in his throat.
"Good," he says instead.
"Minho-hyung, it's higher, come on."
Seungmin's finger taps the key repeatedly, halting the song, making Jeongin stumble over the words he is singing.
Minho blinks at the frustration in Seungmin's voice.
"I know, sorry."
They both let out a sigh. Minho knows Jeongin is holding his breath, too aware of his presence fading to the background as Seungmin's eyes harden in distaste. A realization he had hours ago finally coming to the surface.
"I told you not to get sick," he pushes, words dripping acid to the floor. Minho imagines them melting the tiles and sipping through with a smoky reaction. He imagines it on his skin, burning.
He huffs.
"Not like I can help it, Kim Seungmin."
Maybe it's the way his voice comes out hoarse, or Seungmin doesn't trust him to take proper care of himself. Minho feels the deja-vu incoming before Seungmin has stood up and reached for him. Fingers over his shoulders again, the grip growing stronger over the years.
"Let's go back to the dorm, we are not getting much done anyway," he says, demands. Minho knows better than to fight it, "Innie-yah, are you coming?"
Jeongin shakes his head quietly, suppressing a laugh, mouth pressed into a thin line.
They leave.
The dorm is silent, still in the early hours of a weekday. It's too soon to give up on the day, but Seungmin makes him sit on their couch as he heats water and brews him tea, stealing glances whenever Minho moves too much, eyes pinning him down into the cushions until he has accepted his fate.
The tea burns his tongue as he drinks. Too sweet and too acid, honey scent clinging around them. Seungmin sits beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch.
"Minho-hyung," he calls. He says his name like it's light as a feather, so foreign to the tone he'd used back at the vocal room.
Minho looks up to Seungmin, waits for words that never come. The shadows on his face are still, unmoving. They make of his eyes an unreadable dark abyss, too big, too unknown for Minho to even attempt to get lost in them. He isn't reckless like that. He closes his eyes, head tilted back to rest on the couch, and lets the world reduce to their breathing, the buzzing of their AC system, the smell of honey overpowering his senses.
Minho knows kindness. But it is still strange to him when the sharper words don't come out the way he wanted.
When his hand moves faster than his mouth, lifting the bed covers like it's natural. Like this is not the first time Seungmin requests to sleep in his bed. Like it is not strange for their fingers to intertwine over Minho's stomach and for his body to shudder at the cold night air still clinging to Seungmin.
To whisper goodnight, once Seungmin stops moving and his breathing has evened out. Because Minho doesn't want him to hear, because maybe under the goodnight there's thank you and you didn't have to and why are you here Kim Seungmin or what were you thinking when I told you to leave me alone and I'm sorry.
The night hides the tenderness in his voice and keeps them together in this quiet space of frozen reality. Minho fights to stay awake in this place where Seungmin holds him like it's what they do. Like it's still easy despite the burdens they carry and the people they are.
And if you are who you love, then they're two of the same. Tiptoeing outside the streetlights, to remain unseen, unheard, dangerously inexistent.
The walls grow taller.
One must be insane to climb them.
When Seungmin laughs his shoulders tremble. The corner of his eyes crinkle, mouth open, white teeth under the translucent braces.
The smile lingers like an aftertaste. Bitter to the touch.
"What is it, hyung?"
What is it? What will you do now that I've found my way through? Now that you've been given a taste, however small. Now that your lips have been against mine, however brief. What now?
Minho's heartbeat feels heavy inside his ribcage, not quick, just heavy. As if it was a conscious effort for the blood to run inside his veins. As if existing became a burden to carry. Too much to do for him to stay.
Seungmin's attitude doesn't falter at the fall of Minho's expression.
"Why would you do that?"
Why would you kiss me when I've been trying so hard not to, for so long. Minho doesn't say. Seungmin doesn't answer. He leaves with a last wink, the door to their room rattles closed.
Minho is terrified of heights.
Amidst the fall his heart leaps, his mouth opens to scream, but he can't hear himself with the wind rushing through his ears. He falls, he falls, he keeps falling. When did he get so high up for the nightmare to last so long?
Silence becomes dense and overbearing, the unwanted quiet spreading and watching him from around the corner. Minho has always been good at fading into the background, hidden under a pretense of indifference. But regret grows in the shadows, humid, sticking to his guts.
Across the room, the smile faces away from him. It heals someone else, confident, alluring.
And Minho uselessly counts the weeks it takes for the emptiness to fade, for the wound to heal on its own. It doesn't.
The climb is quick and painless.
Minho pushes himself up the ladder, too impatient to go up step by step. He throws his legs over the border of the bunk bed, falling heavily into the mattress.
Seungmin squints his eyes at him from where he is sitting, cross-legged and crouched over his journal. Wet copper hair on his forehead, the pen halting until the bed stops shaking.
"You'll fuck up your back like this," Minho points out, moving around until he is lying on his stomach, chin resting on his hands, legs dangling off the end of the bed to make up for the lack of space.
"Awesome," Seungmin says dryly.
He doesn't stop writing, focused on filling the pages with ink. Minho avoids looking at the words, taking Seungmin's free hand in his instead.
The skin is softer than his own. Minho runs both his thumbs over his knuckles, feels Seungmin's body tensing at the gentle touch. Minho can't blame him.
It is strange under the yellow glow of the bedroom light. Time feels weightless up here. Seungmin turns his hand until his palm is facing up.
An offer. Minho takes it, lets him lock their fingers together. He taps with his thumb over Minho's hand, tap, tap, tap, just three times. Minho doesn't know what it means.
He gasps in surprise.
Minho takes in Seungmin's furrowed eyebrows, a frown of concentration decorating his face. They're close, Seungmin's hands on his shoulders, Minho's fingers bringing him in by the collar of the shirt.
Warm puffs of air make Minho's lips tingle.
"What are you doing, hyung?"
The voice is as thin as ever, careful. Seungmin's right knee sinks on the couch beside Minho's hip, falling further into his space.
What is he doing? With the breath caught inside his lungs and fear circling him like a predator, sinking its fangs on his neck in one painful bite. With trembling eyes as he searches Seungmin's face, frantic, scared.
What is he doing staring down the precipice and facing the things he desires the most.
Seungmin's hands slide off his shoulders to soften over his arms before they go up to cradle his face. He smiles. Like he can see through the wall, over the wall.
The smile.
Knowing and breathtaking. Loud like are you okay and I've been waiting and you don't have to climb down, I'm right here, I'm up here. And Minho feels his stomach twist anxiously as he tightens his hold on Seungmin. One of his hands reaching for Seungmin's neck, fingertips tangled with the tips of his hair as he leans closer.
Seungmin's thumbs caress over his cheekbones, slow, calm. He is settled, waiting. His gaze unwavering, inviting him with a touch of it's up to you now.
It's up to you.
Seungmin's mouth tastes of confidence and toothpaste. The kiss is a continuity of whispered truths —I wanted you, I wanted you, I've wanted you for so long— Minho takes them and bites on his lips, drags his tongue to soothe the burn —me too, for so long, I'm sorry— and he lets Seungmin melt against him.
The weight of the body settling on his thighs makes it real.
It is not a dream, nor a nightmare. The sandcastle stands, the waves burst against the wall.
They both climb.